


A Fistful of Dollars and an Awful Belt

by Rockatanskies



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon/Reader - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Multi, requested on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 12:13:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11967150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockatanskies/pseuds/Rockatanskies
Summary: //Got a request on Tumblr: 'Can you do a longer request where the potential s/o doesn't really like cowboys at all, but somehow falls for mccree? Thanks!' This is the fulfilment of that!





	A Fistful of Dollars and an Awful Belt

"Okay; fuck, marry, kill,” began the agent, sat on the bunk across from you with her legs crossed and her eyes alight in the dark. “McCree, Reyes, Roadhog?” 

Everyone groaned and began arguing their choices.

The Overwatch agent bunks were always alive after the sun went down, and stupid games like this one helped burn up any energy left behind at the end of the day. Your turn to answer quickly came around.

"Fuck Reyes, marry Roadhog, kill McCree.” Your answer was met with jeers all around and you held your hands up in protest. “Hey, hey, hey! Roadhog seems like a gentleman. And eh, I’m not a fan of Jesse. The whole cowboy thing is just cheesy.”

“Yeah but,” said your bunkmate from below you “Isn’t Reyes like… Super freaking old?” You threw a pillow at them when they laughed.

“I stand by my choices. Your turn, loser.”

*********

The next day proved to be entirely too long. 

It all started when you were confronted by Dr. Ziegler over breakfast about your dorm being too loud overnight, and so you’d all be doing drills on the training field all morning. It was only when you muttered some derisive comment like ‘didn’t realise we were still in high school’ that she snapped.

“Seems like some of you think you are. You’re all to report to Lieutenant Reyes after breakfast, and those of you with smart mouths will be spending longer out there.” 

That soon shut you up. 

********

It had been at least two hours of solid burpees, push-ups, crunches, and stretches when Reyes eventually announced he was bored and told you to just jog the track for the rest of your punishment before stalking off to whatever it was he did all day. Everyone groaned, with most people just giving up and returning to the tantalizing cool of the air-conditioned base now that they weren’t under his hawk-like supervision. You decided to make the most of the free time on the track for once and started stretching out for a run.

“Y’know y’doin’ that wrong, right?” 

The drawled question caught you off guard and you looked up to see Jesse McCree himself leaning against the fence across the track from you. He’d divested of his cowboy getup in favour of grey sweatpants and pulled his hair back into a tufty ponytail. Brown chest hair peeked over the neckline of his tank top. You did have to admit to yourself that he didn’t look quite as ridiculous without the dumb hat and belt.

“Works for me,” you grunted back, switching over to stretching the other leg, and he shrugged and started to jog himself, calling back over his shoulder:

“Don’t come cryin’ to me when you pull somethin’, sweetheart.”

******** 

_Oh fuck, he was right._

You’d done around 5 laps of the enormous track when the slow burn of a pulled muscle started in your left calf and you were forced to retreat to the red dirt at the edge of the track to attempt to knead it out.

Footsteps approached and you threw a reproachful hand up, pointing accusingly at what you were sure was a smug face, with a scowl marring your features as McCree slowed down to talk to you. 

“Don’t you dare say you told me so.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” he admitted, sitting cross-legged opposite you in the dust “I was just seeing if you were okay.” 

You had to admit he did look genuinely concerned as he gestured respectfully at your leg, asking wordlessly if he could see. You nodded and calloused fingers honed in on where the muscle ached the most, your mouth dropping open into a satisfied ‘O’. He chuckled at that.

“I know I’m good with my hands darlin’, but it’s just your leg.” The insufferable smirk still didn’t leave his face when you hucked a clod of dirt in his direction. “And you need to work on your aim.”

He patted your knee somewhat awkwardly and rose to continue on his run. 

“Ice that, you’ll be fine.”

And as he shrank into the distance you couldn’t help but stare.

******** 

From then on it was little things. Waving hi to you on his way out on a mission, smiling whenever he caught your eye across a debriefing table, a hug after a mission that left goosepimples in the wake of his arms around you; you had to admit that there was definitely something there.

Of course your bunkmates teased you to no end about it. “Oh, I thought cowboys were lame?” Sure, whatever.

It all came to a head when he awkwardly asked you out to see a movie with him, all hair-mussing and pink-cheeked bashfulness.

“Sure,” you replied as coolly as you could “As long as it’s not a Western. I’m not really a fan of cowboys.” 

From the look on his face, you were pretty sure that making Jesse McCree speechless was a talent that very few people possessed. He looked so dumbstruck that you just had to laugh at him. 

You leaned in and planted a kiss on his steadily reddening cheek before walking away with a final retort.

“I’ll make an exception for one though. Pick me up at 8.”


End file.
